The Doctor and the Detective
by Magpie09
Summary: Sherlock had been cursed since birth to never understand love, but could the broken, former army doctor; Jane Watson, teach him to love?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello dear readers and welcome to this story! I should let you know that this is mostly based off of the BBC show "Sherlock" with references to Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" (especially the chapter titles) and that I do not own either one of those; and since this fic is so close to the show, it will contain spoilers so if you haven't watched "Sherlock" stop reading and watch it! I also tend to skip around within the show, so I wont write a complete episode from the show; but if that bothers you, sorry! It also contains fem!John. Anyway, as I stated before, I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 1 - "The Stained Glass Prologue" **

Many years ago in the dreary English countryside just outside of London; there lived the wealthy family of the Holmes. Even if theirs was a arranged marriage that profited from business, Violet and Signer Holmes loved each other and had a wonderful son named Mycroft. But almost six years had passed and no matter how hard they tried, they could not conceive another child, which they desperately wanted. They had heard rumors of a powerful witch that could grant anyone their greatest desires and so the Holmes decided to find this witch in the hopes of having another child.

-Some time later-

"So you want me to grant you your truest desire," a musical voice said, seemingly to be able to waft through the air. "Yes, we would like that," Violet said, trying in vain to hide the nervous shake in her voice. "I will grant your request, but remember that there will be a price that needs to be paid and I will name that price the day when you first hold your truest desire in your arms," the musical voice said. "Thank you, thank you so much!," Violet exclaimed as tears of joy started running down her face.

-Nine months and one baby later-

As Violet tiredly held her waiting baby for the first time, she looked at Signer and Mycroft and said with joy, "Isn't he just beautiful! My Sherlock, my baby! Look at his beautiful stormy, gray eyes and his beautiful curly black hair!" "Yes, he is quiet beautiful," a musical voice said suddenly as the Holmes family turned to see a beautiful woman with long, wavy, brown hair and a red dress standing near them, "Don't be alarmed, I have only come to name the price for granting your truest desire. May I hold him?" Violet carefully handed over her newborn baby to the woman. "Sherlock Holmes, I now name the price for granting you life!," the woman said after a short time of staring intently at the baby, and her eyes began to glow a brilliant gold, " It was through love that you were truly born, and therefore that is what you will truly lack. You will never completely understand love and will be cursed to be alone for ever; unless you find that one person that can fill your cold heart with love! You must learn to love them and in return they must love you! If you cannot learn to love and be loved in return by your 35th birthday, you will die alone and miserable!" The woman carefully handed back the baby to the dumbfounded parents before quickly turning around and vanishing into thin air.

The mysterious witch's words were indeed to be proven true for as the years pasted, the Holmes lost all hope in trying to instil love into their youngest child and lost the will to even hope that their child would find whom he can love and be loved in return; for who could ever love a cold hearted sociopath?

**AN2: So, the witch will be the only "magical" thing in this fic. and I figured that since Sherlock would never know love he becomes all logical and doesn't put stock into emotions (just like the show); also the inspiration of the witch is Nimueh from BBC's "Merlin."**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Okay, so now we are about to enter into the show, and therefore will contain spoilers; so if you haven't watched "Sherlock," stop reading and go watch the show! I should also warn the readers that this fic may contain triggers, like mentions of crime scenes, Jane's (fem!John) flashbacks of war, and the like. I should also like to point out that I don't have a beta and to please see past all my imperfect grammar and/or spelling and the like. As always, I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 2 - "I Want So Much More Than This Provincial Life"**

Sand whipped across Jane's care-worn face and she heard herself yelling for her fellow soldiers to take cover. Shots of enemy fire were all around her, causing chaos. Suddenly all she could feel was blinding pain, but she couldn't stop; she had to save her wounded comrades! Jane suddenly woke up from her latest nightmare, gasping for air as she clutched her bed sheets in her shaking hands. Jane had almost forgot what it was like to have a dreamless night, for she had been invalided home. But Jane was a soldier, and she would not let a little thing like PTSD get to her; so if she laid back in bed and let herself cry for a little bit, then no one was the wiser.

After another nightmare filled night, Jane sat on her bed, forcing herself not to wallow in pity, and to make herself face another mundane day. Her eyes flickered towards her hospital issued cane and pain shot up her leg. She knew the pain wasn't real, she knew it was psychosomatic, but that didn't stop the phantom pain to shoot up her leg, the constant, throbbing ache in her shoulder, nor the slight tremor in her hand. As she stared at the cane, she couldn't but think that it reminded her that she was utterly broken, useless, and alone.

* * *

"So how's the blog going?," the dark-skinned therapist questioned. Jane was brought back to the present from her wandering thoughts as she found herself in her therapist's office. "Uh...ya,: she floundered for an answer that would appease the other woman and her here out of the stuffy office faster, "Good. It's coming along fine."

"You haven't written a word, have you?," the therapist asked knowingly as she wrote in her notebook.

"You just wrote, 'Still has trust issues,'" Jane couldn't help but point out before she mentally kicked herself for making the comment.

"And you just read my writing upside down," the therapist pointed out in return, "see what I mean? Jane, you were a soldier; it's going to take some time to get readjusted to civilian life and writing down everything that happens to you really will help."

Jane looked up at the therapist and replied sorrowfully, "Nothing ever happens to me."

**AN2: I just wanted to say that I am in no way saying that having PTSD is a thing that one can soldier through. If I have offended anybody, or made it seem like Jane's PTSD isn't a big deal, then I am sorry. I would also like to say that if are you or anybody you know is suffering from a mental illness; be it PTSD, bipolar, or even anxiety and depression, please talk to a therapist and consider medication and contact a psychiatrist. There is no shame in asking for help. I myself have been suffering from panic attack, anxiety, and depression and am in therapy and taking medication. Anyway, I just wanted to make that clear.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Finally, we meet Sherlock in this chapter! Yay! This chapter was probably one of the hardest to write because I kept changing my mind about how I want things to go, but hey I got it done! Also I should warn my readers, that I'm not British, so please don't judge too harshly on me! Anyway, as always; I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 3 - "Come Into the Light"**

Jane was walking through the park as fast as her can would let her, hoping that no one would stop her. She was not in the mood to deal with people. "Jane? Jane Watson?!," a voice suddenly called out. Jane halted, then slowly resigned herself to have to deal with this person, even when she desperately wanted to get away from people. "Yes?," she questioned, finally spying the heavy-set man that had called out her name. The heavy-set man wore a suit that looked a little snug, had brown, stringy hair that looked like it was starting to thin, and his fairly large glasses sat askew on his round face. "Mike, Mike Stamford. We trained together at Bart's," he introduced himself, hoping to remind her; as she glanced at his portly figure, he just laughed and remarked, "I know, I got fat. I heard that you were across the world getting shot at. What happened?." "I got shot," she retorted dryly, bringing his attention to the can in her clutched hand. Mike cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to change the topic, "Can I interest in you in some coffee and get caught up?"

Jane quietly sat next to her former classmate and moved her cup of coffee from one hand to the other when she noticed her hand trembling. "You staying in London?," Mike asked her, trying to help ease the awkward atmosphere that surrounded the two former classmates. "Come on!," she retorted with a snort, "I can't afford London on an army pension."

"The Jane Watson I knew wouldn't want to be anywhere else," the portly man said with a laugh.

"Well, I'm not the Jane Watson you knew," she replied hotly before realizing she let her mouth run away from her again.

"Maybe you can get a flatmate," Mike suggested as if he never heard her latest reply.

Jane snorted again before replying, "Come on, who'd want me as a flatmate."

Mike just smiled sadly, but he didn't have any advice for his old classmate. "How about you give me your number so we can keep in touch?," he asked her. Jane nodded grimly and gave him her number before leaving to get back to her lonely bedsit.

Jane was suddenly awakened from her most recent nightmare by a shrill ringing. She rubber her face and looked over at her nightstand where her phone kept making a shrill ringing. She grabbed her phone and tiredly answered, "Watson." "Hey Jane, it's Mike," Mike answered in a shaky voice.

"Mike! It's almost one in the morning; what's wrong?," Jane asked, immediately worried about her old friend.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't get a hold of anyone else. I kind of had a little accident," he explained in a shaky voice.

"Oh Mike!," Jane exclaimed, worried even more about her old friend, "Are you okay?!"

"I'm okay, just shaken up," Mike reassured her, "I just need a good friend right about now to come get me..."

"Yes, alright," Jane agreed tiredly, "Where are you?"

"Thank you Jane!," Mike exclaimed, "I right outside the old Holmes manor at 221 Baker St."

"Alright, just sit tight. I'll be there soon," Jane tiredly replied before she hung up the phone and hurriedly got herself ready and tried to catch a cab at this time of night.

Jane was dropped off in front of the biggest house she had ever seen. Jane thought that whoever was the architect for the manor was clearly inspired by Gothic churches, based off the stained glass windows in the top level of the manor, the steepled roof, and the gargoyles on the eves of the roof. Jane worriedly looked around for her old classmate, when she noticed a war that was crashed in a tree near the open front gate. Jane hobbled quickly over to the car, but noticed that Mike wasn't in it. Jane sighed, looking around in vain for her friend. Having no luck, she decided to risk disturbing the people in the manor in hope that they knew what had happened to her friend.

"Hello?," Jane called out as she opened the front door, "is anybody here?! I'm looking for my friend, who crashed his car in front of your house!" Suddenly an old woman in a purple dress with a white apron on came tottling up to Jane, "Oh, my poor dear!," the old woman exclaimed, "Please come in from the cold! You said you were looking for a friend? Well, there is a man that came in not too long ago and is talking to the master right now. I'll take you to them," the woman said breathlessly as she lead Jane to a room that looked like a study. The peeling, green wallpaper looked like it belonged in the Victorian era, a black leather couch was against the far wall surrounded by over packed bookshelves, in front of the couch was a small coffee table littered with papers, a cow skull wearing headphones adorned another wall with even more bookcases underneath, a fireplace with a fire burning inside lit up the room; letting Jane see the two men sitting in armchairs near the fireplace.

"Oh Jane!," Mike exclaimed when he saw her, "I was just telling my new acquaintance here about you! Please come in!" Jane hesitantly made her way inside the room where Mike hurriedly introduced her to his new acquaintance, whom Jane assumed to be the master of the house. "This is an old classmate of mine, Jane Watson; the one whom I told you about," her old friend introduced. "Do you have a phone?," the man asked, not even looking up from whatever he was reading.

"What's wrong with the land line?," Mike tiredly asked.

"I prefer to text," the man said

"Sorry," Mike said as he padded his pockets, "Must have left it in the car."

Jane sighed tiredly, pulled out her phone, and offered it to the man saying, "Here take mine." The man finally glace up at her and Jane was left breathless by his appearance. He was handsome in an otherworldly kind of way with his dark, curly hair that accented his pale face, sharp cheekbones that looked sharp enough to cut, and his silver eyes that seemed to stare right into her soul. "Thank," he replied in his deep baritone voice that sent involuntary shivers down Jane's spine as she handed over her phone.

The man quickly got up of his chair, grabbed Jane's phone and spun around, quickly typing away on her phone when he suddenly questioned, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" "I'm sorry?," she questioned.

The man just ignored her and said, "I like to play the violin and sometimes I don't talk for days, would that bother you? My potential live-in assistant should know the worst about me."

"Who said anything about me being your assistant?," Jane asked, quickly getting mad at the tall man.

"I did," he said, "Just told Mike that I needed an assistant and Mike told me you were looking for a flatmate. So, why not live here and you can earn your keep by being my assistant. And now here you are, in the middle of the night coming to hep a friend, recently home from the war, obviously in need of a good job and an nice place to live while still in London. So Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Did you tell him that I was at war?," Jane asked her friend, who only nodded his head no with a smile.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?," the man questioned again, sounding petulant.

"Afghanistan," she slowly replied, "Sorry, how did you know that?"

"Not a difficult leap," the man replied in a smug voice.

"Is that it?," Jane asked angrily.

"Problem?"

"Yeah, we don't know a thing about each other and you want me to be your live-in assistant? I don't even know your name."

The man quickly looked her over and said, "I know that your an army doctor recently invalid home from Afghanistan. You have a therapist who thinks your limp is psychosomatic; quite correctly I'm afraid. I know you have a brother that you wont go to for help; maybe it's because you don't like the drinking or maybe it's because you don't like the fact that he left his wife. That's enough to go on for now, I think. The name is Sherlock Holmes and please be sure to come back later, say seven o'clock this evening?," the man said and hurriedly showed Mike and Jane the way out and to the waiting cab. As the cab sped off away from the the manor all Jane could think about was who in the wold the mysterious man named Sherlock Holmes really was.

A man dressed in black with cold eyes hesitantly knock on a door. "This had better be good," a cold voice yelled out from within the room. "Yes sir," the cold-eyed man replied as he opened the door and quickly dropped a photo on a desk, "It seems as if he has found a new friend," the cold-eyed man said as he gestured towards the photo. The other man let his eyes slowly take in the figure in the photograph. A woman with sandy blonde hair that looked like it was beginning to gray and was in a harsh, military bun, her face was lined with worry lines and she had soft, blue eyes, an oversized oatmeal colored jumper did nothing for her figure, but the man knew she would be fit underneath the awful jumper, she was also clutching a hospital-issued cane. "Interesting," he replied, "who is she?"

"Our sources say she is Dr. Jane Watson, recently invalid home from Afghanistan and had been given a job opportunity as his assistant in return for her living with him," the man in black said.

"Very interesting," the other replied, "We will just have to keep an eye on her, wont we Mr. Moran?" The man in black smiled knowingly as he patted the gun at his side.

**AN2: I know in the show that Sherlock doesn't live in a manor, but I couldn't resist putting him in a slightly more modern version of the Beast's castle in "Beauty and the Beast." This fic is basically like the show with a little reworking on my part; I hope you don't mind!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Another really hard chapter for me to write; but hey it's here! As always I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 4 - "Be Our Guest"**

The next day Jane found herself hurrying to get to St. Bartholomew Hospital, because Sherlock Holmes had texted her to meet there. As she managed to catch a cab and as the cab sped off, Jane mentally cursed herself for not doing more research on the mysterious Sherlock Holmes, but when she researched him that morning; she found herself so immersed in his personal website that she didn't even think about any more research.

As the cab pulled to the side of the road, Jane dutifully paid the cabbie and slowly made her way towards her old stomping grounds; where she had trained to become a doctor. As soon as she was inside the building, she mumbled to herself, "A bit different from my day," before a voice called out, "Ah! I hoped you would come." Jane flinched in surprise at the sudden voice and quickly looked around to see Sherlock standing very close to her. 'How did he sneak up on me like that?,' Jane wondered to herself. "Come on, Jane; I've left my riding crop in the mortuary." Jane was utterly confused, "That's why you texted me to come here?!," she demanded. Sherlock just ignored her and continued leading the way to the mortuary.

When Sherlock barged into the mortuary, Jane noticed a small, brunette girl in a white lab coat look at Sherlock in surprise and adoration. "Ah, Molly," Sherlock greeted, "Have you seen...Ah, here it is," Sherlock mumbled as he picked up his riding crop. The mousy girl named Molly looked up at the tall man and started saying, "Um Sherlock, I'm glad you're here," she said in an awed struck voice, " I was just about to text you and ask if you wanted to go out for some coffee?" Sherlock looked to be ignoring Molly before realizing she was still talking and said, "Oh yes, coffee would be nice. Black with two sugars please." "Okay," Molly said dejectedly as she left the room to get Sherlock's coffee.

While they were waiting, Jane asked Sherlock who the old woman that had answered the door at the manor. "Oh, that was Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper. Been there ever since I helped her when her husband found himself on Death Row." "You got him out of it?," she questioned.

"I insured it," he said with a smile, "What do you think of the manor?"

"Yes, yes; I think it will do quite nicely, if we could just clean up your study a little bit," she said as she remembered the chaotic mess of the study.

"Ah, yes. I suppose I could clean up a little," Sherlock quietly said.

"There's also a skull on the mantle," Jane pointed out as she thought of the human skull that sat on the fireplace mantle.

"Ah yes, a friend," Sherlock explained, "Well, I say 'friend'," Before Jane could comment, Molly came back in with Sherlock's coffee. "Did you do something with you lipstick?," Sherlock asked her. "It wasn't working for me," she nervously replied. "Mmmm...mouth is too small now," he said as he grabbed the coffee, Jane, and his riding crop and practically flew back to the manor in the back of a cab. "Looked you up on the internet this morning," Jane said to Sherlock in the back of the cab, "'The Science of Deduction'." "What did you think?," asked Sherlock with a hint of hope in his voice. "It said that you can tell a software programmer from his tie and an airline pilot from his left thumb," she responded with obvious doubt in her voice. "Yes, just like I can read your military career in your face, hair, and leg and I can tell your brother's alcoholism from your mobile phone." "How?," she asked. Sherlock just smiled and turned to look out the window

"How about these suicides then, Sherlock? There's been three already, thought it be right up your alley," Mrs. Hudson said as she picked up the newspaper. "Four," replied Sherlock as he spotted a police car that parked right outside the manor, "and there's something different about this one."

Jane was baffled as she found herself sitting in on of the armchairs with a Union Jack pillow against her back as a tired, gray haired man in a trench coat came trotting into the room. "What's different?," Sherlock questioned without even greeting the man or even turning around from his spot by the window. "You know how they never leave notes? Well, this one did," explained the gray haired man. "Who's on forensics?," questioned Sherlock.

"Anderson."

"Anderson!," Sherlock exclaimed with disgust dripping from his baritone voice, "He wont work with me! That's why I'm going to have an assistant!," Sherlock exclaimed, quickly glancing at Jane.

"Will you come?," the gray haired man questioned tiredly, ignoring Sherlock's outburst.

"Yes," Sherlock finally conceded, "but I'll follow in my own ride." The gray haired man just nodded appreciatively and quickly left the room. As soon as the man left, Sherlock jumped in excitement and spun dramatically around the room as he put on his long gray coat and blue scarf and left the room in a flurry of activity. "Look at him!," Mrs. Hudson sighed with a smile on her face, "All excited for a suicide, it's not right. Don't you worry dear, he'll be back soon, you just rest your leg and I'll make you a cuppa." "Damn my leg!," Jane suddenly exploded, yet again not realizing her brain-to-mouth filter had failed once again. "Sorry," Jane said meekly, "It's just...," she said as she hit her leg with her cane. "It's alright dear, I have a bad hip," Mrs. Hudson said understandingly as she left the room. Jane grabbed the newspaper and began to read about the serial suicides that were being investigated by D.I. Gregory Lestrade and Jane recognized the picture of the gray haired man that had just left as the inspector. A sudden voice interrupted Jane's reading and said, "You were a doctor, an army doctor in fact," Jane looked up to see Sherlock standing in the doorway pulling on his leather gloves. "Yes," she said as she grabbed her cane and stood up.

"Seen a lot of injures, violent deaths, and a bit of trouble, I bet," Sherlock stated.

"Yes," Jane said solemnly,"Too much for a lifetime."

"Care to see some more?"

"Oh, God yes!," Jane exclaimed as she followed Sherlock out of the door.

"Don't wait up Mrs. Hudson, we'll be late!," Sherlock exclaimed as he and Jane rushed to leave the manor. "What both of you?," Mrs. Hudson asked incredulously. "Of course Mrs. Hudson! Three serial suicides and now another with a note! Oh it's Christmas! No time for staying in here, the game is on!," exclaimed Sherlock as he gave a peck on Mrs. Hudson's cheek and led Jane out of the manor and towards the main road to hail a cab.

Jane soon found herself in the back of a cab next to Sherlock as the cab sped off through London as the day slowly turned into night. "All right," Sherlock's baritone voice suddenly cut into Jane's thoughts, "You have questions."

"Yes," Jane answered, baffled at how her day has gone, "Where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next."

"All right, you live in a manor, why are we in a cab? Don't you have your own personal driver or something?"  
"I prefer cabs. Next."

"What exactly is it that you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I would say private detective, but..."

"But?," Sherlock questioned, hoping that his potential live-in assistant could be more interesting that all the other dull people he had to see everyday.

"The police don't consult with private detectives," Jane said, looking over at Sherlock just in time to see a quick smirk grace his face.

"I'm a consulting detective; only one in the world. Created the job myself."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that whenever the police are out of their depth, which is always, they contact me."

"The police don't consult amateurs"

Sherlock glanced over at Jane before saying, "When I met you for the first time, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq,' you looked surprised,"

"Yes, how did you know if Mike didn't tell you."

"I didn't know nor did Mike tell me. I saw. Your hairstyle, the way you hold yourself, and the fact that you don't seem to have a problem with co-ed living says military. But you mumbled when you entered into St. Bart's saying, 'a bit different from my day,' and the fact that Stanford knows you says trained at Bart's; so army doctor, obvious Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrist, so you've been abroad but not sunbathing. Your limp is really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand; like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic; which says that the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan, so Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist," Jane said, baffled at Sherlock's quick analysis of her.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother. Your phone, it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. Your looking for a job, you wouldn't waste your money on this; it's a gift then. Scratches on it, not one but many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins; the woman sitting next to me would not treat her luxury item that way, so it has had a previous owner. Next bit is easy, you know it already."

Jane quickly thought about her phone and realized what he was talking about after remembering there was an engraving on the back of the phone that said "To Harry, From Clara, XXX." "The engraving," she said flabbergasted

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who has given I you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget, could be a cousin, but your a war hero considering to move in with me; clearly you don't have much of an extended family, certainly not one you're close to. Now Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment, it's expensive, which says wife not girlfriend, it's been given to you recently; this model is only six months old. Six months old and he's giving it away? If she left him he would keep it. Sentiment, people do that. But no, he wanted rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, which says he wants to keep in touch. Your willing to live with me and not go to your brother's? Says maybe you've got problems with him; maybe it's because you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark, good one though. Power outlet; the scuff marks around it will tell you that every night he plugs it in to charge, his hands shake. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone and you never see a drunk's phone without them. There you go, you were right."

"Right. Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs," Sherlock concluded with a smile.

Jane was dumbstruck. How on earth could this man know so much about her with basically one look? "That...was amazing," she honestly replied.

"You think so?," Sherlock asked as if he didn't get praise very often.

"Of course it was! It was extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

"That's not what most people say."

"What do most people say?"

* * *

"'Piss off,'" Sherlock said with a smile. Jane just smiled in bewilderment as she watched the busy streets of London pass by her window as the cab drew closer to the crime scene.

As soon as they were at the crime scene, Sherlock left the cab, leaving Jane to pay the fare. Sherlock buttoned up his coat and said to Jane as the cap sped off towards its next customer, "Did I get anything wrong?" "Harry and me don't get on, never have," Jane began as they walked towards the building, "Clara and Harry split up three months ago, they are getting a divorce, and Harry is a drinker."

"Spot on then, I didn't expect to be right about everything," he remarked smugly.

"Harry is short for Harriet."

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, "Harry is your sister," he said, almost disappointed in himself.

"What exactly am I doing here?," questioned Jane, ignoring Sherlock.

"Sister!," he exclaimed.

"No seriously, what am I doing here?"

"There's always something!"

"Hello, freak," a female voice cut in before Jane had a chance to respond. Jane looked over to see a curly, dark-haired woman standing next to a police car and was tapering off the perimeter with a disgusted look on her face when she saw Sherlock. "Inspector Lestrade wanted to see me," Sherlock said, ignoring her obvious dislike for him.

"Why?," she asked, voice dripping with disdain.

"I was invited."

"Why?"

"Maybe because he wants my opinion," Sherlock said as he crossed over the police caution tape.

"Oh, you know what I think?!," the woman said with disdain.

"Always Sally," Sherlock said as he lifted the tape for Jane.

"Wait a minute, who is this?," Sally asked, pointed to Jane.

"A colleague of mine, Dr. Jane Watson. Jane this is Sargent Sally Donovan,: Sherlock quickly introduced, hoping to speed this dull conversation along so he could get inside faster.

"A colleague? Since when do you get a colege? Did he follow you home?," Sally asked Jane.

"Look, I can wait here," Jane said, trying not to cause trouble with her presence. "No, come on Jane," Sherlock said as he once again lifted the police tape for her.

As they passed by Sally, Sherlock caught a strange smell coming from her, "You didn't go home last night," Sherlock pointed out. Sally just cleared her throat awkwardly and turned on her walkies-talkie, and said, "Freak's here, sending him up." As Sherlock and Jane neared the building's entrance a mane with string, black hair, small eyes, large nose, and wearing a blue protective suit came walking out of the building straight towards Sherlock. "Ah Anderson," Sherlock greeted, "Here we are again."

"This is a crime scene and I don't want it contaminated! Is that clear?!," he roughly asked Sherlock.

"Quite clear," Sherlock said, "Is your wife away for long?"

"Oh don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men."

"Well of course it's for men, I'm wearing it!," Anderson retorted

"So is Sargent Donovan." Anderson quickly turned towards where Sally was standing, "Wooh," Sherlock said as he smelled the air, "I think it just evaporated. May I go in?"

"Now whatever it is that you're implying..," Anderson said waving his hands around as he tried to explain.

"I'm not implying anything," Sherlock said as he walked up to the door to the building, "I'm sure Sargent Donovan just came around for a nice little chat and just happened to say over, and I assumed she scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees," Sherlock said with a quick smile and turned dramatically away to enter the building with Jane following close behind.

"You should put on one of those," Sherlock told Jane as he pointed towards the pile of blue protective suits near the gray haired man, who Jane remembered from the paper as Inspector Lestrade, as he was putting on his own protective suit. The detective inspector looked over at Jane and asked Sherlock, "Who is she?" "She's with me," Sherlock quickly replied. Lestrade looked over at her again wondering about the short blonde wearing her hair in a military style bun, a cream colored jumper, and grasping a cane; Lestrade said, "Yeah, but who is she?" "I said she is with me," Sherlock explained in a tense voice as Jane quickly zipped up her blue protective suit.

As they were heading upstairs, Lestrade said to Sherlock, "Her name is Jennifer Wilson, hasn't been here long; some kids had found her. We're looking for some contacts now." They approached an open door and Jane could see a blond woman dressed entirely in pink laying face down on the ground and her hand outstretched towards some markings in the floorboard that read 'Rache.' "Shut up!," Sherlock suddenly yelled at Lestrade. "I didn't say anything," Lestrade said confused. "You were thinking, it's annoying!," Sherlock said in a huff. Lestrade just looked over at Jane, who just shrugged apologetically as she watched Sherlock look over the corpse.

After a few minutes of Sherlock looking, Lestrade asked, "Got anything?" "Not much," Sherlock said with a smile before Anderson suddenly came into the room, leaning on the doorway, "She's German," he said, "'Rache,' it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something." Sherlock just quietly closed the door in his face and pulled out his phone saying, "Yes, thank you for your input." "So she's German?," asked Lestrade, ignoring Sherlock's rudeness to his team. "Of course she's not German! She's from out of town though, intending to stay for only one night, before returning home to Cardiff. So far so obvious." "Sorry, obvious?," Jane asked incredulously "What about the message?" asked Lestrade. "Dr. Watson, what do you think," Sherlock asked, ignoring Lestrade. "Of the message?," she asked confused as she looked at the two men. "Of the body, your a medical woman," Sherlock said. "We have a whole team outside," Lestrade said, quickly losing patience. "They wont work with me," explained Sherlock.

"I'm breaking every rule just letting you in here," Lestrade said exasperated.

"Yes, because you need me," Sherlock said smugly.

"Yes, I do," Lestrade said quietly, "God help me."

"Dr. Watson?," Sherlock called out.

Jane looked over at Lestrade seeking permission. "Oh do whatever he say, help yourself," Lestrade resignedly said as he left the room, making sure to let his team know to leave Sherlock and his new colege alone for a couple of minutes.

Jane and Sherlock crouched on either side of the body of Jennifer Wilson and Jane put her can on the floor and asked "What am I doing here?" "Helping me prove a point," Sherlock said in a whisper.

"I'm going to be your assistant and this is what you want me to do?"

"Yeah, it's fun isn't it?!"

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I hoped that you could go a little deeper."

Jane just resignedly got closer to the body and automatically checked for a pulse, knowing she wouldn't find one. As she got closer to her face, Jane could smell the sickening stench of vomit, Jane checked the body over once more before saying, "Asphyxiation, probably chocked on her own vomit. I can't smell any alcohol on her so it could have been a seizure, possibly drugs," Jane said as she noticed Lestrade come back into the room.

"You know what it was," admonished Sherlock, "You've read the papers."

"She's one of the suicides?"

"Sherlock, I can't give you anymore time," Lestrade interrupted, "I need all that you got."

"Victim is in her late thirties. A fashionable person going by her clothes, possibly in the media going by the alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, only intended to spend one night judging by the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?," Lestrade questioned, "What suitcase?"

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married for at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married."

"Of for God's sake," Lestrade said, crossing his arms over his chest, "If you're just making this up..."

"Her wedding ring; ten years at least," Sherlock explained, crouching down next to the body, "Rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of marriage right there, the inside of the ring is shinier than the outside; that means it's regularly removed, the only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove it for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fixation of being single for a long time, so a string of lovers. Simple."

"That's brilliant," Jane said in awe.

Sherlock looked taken back at the sudden praise before Jane apologized for interrupting.

"Cardiff?," Lestrade asked Sherlock, getting his attention back on track.

"Obvious isn't it?," Sherlock asked.

"It's not obvious to me," Jane said.

Sherlock looked back and forth between Lestrade and Jane before saying, "Dear God, what must it be like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Her coat! It's slightly damp, which means it's been raining, but there hasn't been any rain around London recently. Under her coat collar is damp too, she's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left hand pocket, but dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind; too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, but she couldn't have traveled for more and two to three hours, because her coat isn't dry. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius for that travel time; Cardiff," Sherlock explained, showing a weather map on his phone to Lestrade and Jane before putting his phone away.

"That was fantastic!," Jane exclaimed excitedly. "Do you know you do that out loud?," Sherlock questioned with a smile. "Sorry," Jane apologized meekly, "I'll shut up now." "No it's fine," Sherlock meekly replied. "Why do you keep saying 'suitcase'?," Lestrade interrupted. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer; we must find out who Rachel is."

"So she was writing 'Rachel'?," Lestrade asked.

"No, she was writing an angry note in German," Sherlock sarcastically replied, "Of course she was writing 'Rachel'! What can be questioned is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"So how do you know she had a suitcase?"

"Back of her right leg. Tiny splash marks on her heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right had, you wont get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman in these clothes; conscious decision to for an overnight bag. So we know she was staying for one night. Now where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock questioned Lestrade.

"There wasn't a case," Lestrade shrugged.

Sherlock slowly turned to look at the detective inspector before saying with narrowed eyes, "Say that again."

"There wasn't any case," Lestrade repeated, "There was never any suitcase."

Sherlock quickly spun out of the room, calling to the team of investigators, "Suitcase! Did anybody find a suitcase?! Was there a suitcase in this house?!," He yelled and began running down the stairs.

"Sherlock!," Lestrade called down, "There is no case!"

"They take the poison themselves, the chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot wouldn't miss them," Sherlock explained before rushing down the stairs again.

"Ya thanks," Lestrade called down to him sarcastically, "And?"

"It's murder. All of them. I don't know how and they're not suicides, they're killings; serial killings! We got ourselves a serial killer, I love those! There's always something to look forward to!," Sherlock said excitedly, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"Why do you say that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case?! Did she eat it?! Someone else was here and they took her case! So the killer must have driven her here, forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel and left her case there," Jane said.

"No, she never got to the hotel, look at her hair! She color coordinates her lipstick with her shoes, she never would have left the hotel with her hair looking like..," Sherlock stopped, before suddenly gasping as he had an epiphany, "Serial killers are always hard, you have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!," Lestrade exasperatedly yelled.

"We don't have to wait! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake! Go to Cardiff, find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were; find Rachel!"

"Of course, but what mistake?"

"Pink!," Sherlock yelled as he rushed out of the door, leaving an awed and slightly flabbergasted Jane behind.

Jane slowly made her way down the stairs and took off the ridiculous blue protective suit off before leaving the crime scene, looking around for landmarks as she realized she had no idea where she was and Sherlock was nowhere in sight. "He's gone," Sally's voice called out, "He just took off, he does that sometimes."

"Is he coming back?," Jane asked with a sigh.

"Didn't look like it," the dark-haired woman said.

"Right," Jane sighed, "Sorry, where am I?"

"Brixton," Sally said, slightly feeling sorry for the poor cane-wielding woman before her.

"Do you know where I can get a cab?"

"Try the main road," Sally said as she lifted the police caution tape for Jane to pass under, "But your not his friend. He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm nobody, I just met him," Jane said.

"All right, but I should warn you to stay away from that guy."

"Why?," Jane asked, trying to push down the feeling that she needed to protect Sherlock, even if it was from Sally's awful words.

"You know why he's here? He doesn't get paid or anything. He likes it, he gets off on it. The weirder the crime the more he get off and you know what? One day just showing up wont be enough. Someday we'll be standing around a body and Sherlock Holmes would've been the one to put it there."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a psychopath and psychopaths get bored. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes," Sally warned before returning back to the crime scene. Jane just shook her head before resigning herself to walk towards the main road.

**AN2: Whew! That was a long one! It was actually longer, but I decided to split what I had originally wrote. So see y'all next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hello, and welcome back! Nothing really to report, but just wanted to say hey! That and I chose the title to this chapter, because Mycroft sometimes reminds me of Cogsworth. As always, I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 5 - "Overgrown Pocket Watch"**

Before ever taking two steps, Jane suddenly heard a phone ring. Jane looked over at a public telephone booth at where the persistent ringing was coming from, before ignoring it and hobbled towards the main road. When Jane had finally found the main road and had so far had been unsuccessful in hailing a cab, she heard a phone ring. Jane looked inside a small restaurant to see where the ringing was coming from, but before an employee could answer it, the ringing stopped. Jane just pressed on, thinking it to be a coincidence before passing another red, public telephone booth where yet again the phone began to ring. Jane looked around, wondering if she was just being paranoid, before she finally decided to enter the red booth and picked up the phone.

"There's a security camera near the roof of the building to your left. Do you see it?," a posh, male voice asked without greeting. "Who is this? Who's speaking?," Jane asked, exasperated at the posh sounding man on the other end of the phone.

"Do you see the camera, Dr. Watson?," the voice calmly repeated, ignoring her questions.

Jane looked up to see a camera moving, "Yes, I see it," she said.

"Watch," the voice commanded. Suddenly the camera turned away from her to face the opposite direction. "There is another camera facing opposite you. Do you see it?," the voice asked, sounding smug.

Jane looked to see that camera face away, just like the first. "And finally, the camera at your right," the voice said. Jane turned to see that camera turn away, just like the others.

"How are you doing this?," Jane demanded.

"Get into the car, Dr. Watson. I would make some sort of threat, but I'm pretty sure your situation is quite clear to you." Suddenly a black car pulled up and a large man stepped out to open the back door, before Jane realized that whoever was talking to her had hung up on her. Jane calmly put the phone down and stepped into the car.

As the car sped off, Jane looked over to see a beautiful woman typing away at her phone. "Hello," Jane greeted. "Hi," the woman replied, barely glancing at her, before returning to her phone.

"What's your name then?," Jane asked, trying to make out her situation by making conversation

"Ummm...Anthea," the woman replied.

Jane just smiled, knowing that was a terrible lie, "That not your real name," she pointed out.

"No it isn't," 'Anthea' said with a smile.

"I'm Jane," she introduced meekly.

"Yes, I know."

"Any point in asking where I'm going?"

"None whatsoever."

"Right, okay," Jane calmly replied, realizing there was no point in trying to make conversation with 'Anthea.' Jane looked out the window to watch London pass by.

The car pulled into an abandoned warehouse where a man was standing in the middle of the room, leaning on an umbrella. Jane got out of the car and hobbled quickly towards the impeccably dressed man. "Have a seat Jane," the man said, pointing to a chair with his umbrella. After hearing his posh voice, Jane realized that this man was the same man who was on the phone earlier. "You know that was very clever with the cameras and all, but you could have just phoned me. On my phone," Jane said exasperated and flustered at being "kidnapped."

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discrete; hence this place. The leg must be hurting you, sit down," he said with a fake smile.

"I don't wont to sit down!," Jane refused with a huff.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

The man just laughed and said, "The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one, I barely know him. I met him early this morning," Jane replied, thinking how it had not even been a whole day since she met Sherlock and since then her life had become a thrilling roller coaster ride.

"Yes, and since then you're considering moving in with him and now your solving crimes together. Are we to expect a happy announcement at the end of the week?"

"Who are you?," Jane demanded.

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock, why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him, how many friends do you think he has? I'm the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what is that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?"

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he would probably say his 'arch enemy.' He does love to be dramatic."

Jane glanced around the warehouse before sarcastically replying, "Well, thank God you're above all that."

Before the man had a chance to respond, Jane's phone suddenly intruppted; letting her know she got a text. Jane pulled out her phone to read, 'Baker St. Come at once if convenient SH.' The posh man's voice intruppted Jane's thoughts by saying, "I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Not distracting me at all," replied Jane as she put her phone back in her pocket.

"Do you plan on continuing your association with Sherlock Holmes?," the man asked.

Jane sighed and replied, "I could be wrong, but I don't think that's any of your business."

"It could be."

"It really couldn't."

The man sighed and said, "If you do intend to stay at 221 Baker St. "I'll be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?"

"Because you're not a wealthy woman."

"In exchange for what?"

"Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you would feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?," Jane asked, suddenly growing very tired of this man.

"I worry about him. Constantly

"That nice of you," Jane remarked sarcastically.

"But I would prefer it that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a difficult relationship."

Jane's text ring tone suddenly was heard again and Jane was almost hesitant from staring the man down, before reading, 'If inconvenient come anyway. SH.' "No," Jane replied to the man.

"I haven't even mentioned a figure," he said.

"Don't bother," said Jane as she put her phone away again.

The man laughed and said, "Your very loyal, very quickly." "No, I'm not. I'm just not interested," Jane remarked. The man stared at her, before pulling out a small leather bound journal from his suit pocket, opened it to a page, and said, "Trust issues. That's what it says here," he said as he gestured to the journal.

Jane looked down at the journal in the man's hands in surprised shock, "What's that?," she asked, hoping it wasn't her therapist's notes.

"Could it be you decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?," the man asked, ignoring Jane's obvious discomfort over the fact that he had access to her therapist's notes.

"Who says I trust him?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?," Jane demanded.

The man stared at her and said, "You tell me."

Jane stared back for a minute before turning around and walking back towards the car, but she was brought to a stop when the man called out, "I imagine people have already told you to stay away from him, but I can see by your left had that isn't going to happen."

Jane slowly turned around to see the man put the journal back in his suit pocket and asked exasperatedly, "My what?"

"Show me," the man commanded.

Jane raised her left hand as the man stepped closer to her. As he went to grab her hand, Jane pulled away from him, "Don't," she warned him. The man just stared at her and Jane begrudgingly gave him her hand.

"Remarkable," the man said as he stared at her hand.

"What is?," she questioned hotly as she pulled back her hand.

"Most people run around this city and all they see is streets, shops, and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, she thinks your haunted by your memories of your military service."

"Who the hell are you?!," Jane demanded, "and how do you know that?!"

"Fire her," the man replied, ignoring Jane's outburst, "She's got it the wrong way 'round. Your under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. Your not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson; you miss it. Welcome back." The man turned and started to walk away, swinging his umbrella, and called out, "Time to choose a side, Dr. Watson."

Jane's text ring tone sounded again before 'Anthea' said, "I'm to take you home." Jane turned around to see the beautiful woman texting away at her phone as Jane pulled out her own phone to read 'Could be dangerous. SH.' Jane put her phone back in her pocket and stared at her now steady hand. "Address?," 'Anthea' asked, breaking Jane away from her thoughts. "221 Baker St.," Jane replied, hobbling to the car, "But I need to stop off somewhere first."

Jane entered her old bedsit, hobbled to the desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out her old army-issued handgun. She made sure it was loaded, the safety turned on, and put the gun in the back of her trousers before leaving her boring, beige bedsit, hopefully for good.

The car pulled outside of the manor and as Jane was about to leave the car she asked 'Anthea,' "Hey, can you not tell your boss this is where I went?" "Sure," the woman replied, not even looking away from her phone. "You already told him, haven't you?," Jane asked in resignation. "Yep," replied 'Anthea.' "Alright then," Jane sighed, left the car, and knocked on the door to the manor.

When Jane finally got into Sherlock's study, Sherlock was stretched out on the leather sofa. "What are you doing?," Jane asked wondering what he wanted as she noticed nicotine patches on his pale arms. "Nicotine patches. Helps me think," explained Sherlock, "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days; bad news for brain work."

"Good news for breathing," Jane said dryly.

"Ugh," Sherlock said in disgust, "Breathing is boring!"

"Is that three patches?," Jane asked as she walked closer to get a better look.

"It's a three patch problem," Sherlock said as he closed his eyes and brought his hands together in a prayer like gesture under his chin.

"Well?," Jane asked, but Sherlock just ignored her. "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important."

"Oh yeah! Of course," Sherlock suddenly replied, "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?," she questioned incredulously.

"Don't want to use mine, always a chance that it could be recognized; it is on the website," Sherlock said as way of explanation

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting, but she didn't hear me."

"I was on the other side of London!," Jane exclaimed in frustration.

"There was no hurry."

Jane sighed in resignation before handing her phone to his outstretched hand. "Is this about the case?," she asked.

"Case. Her case, yes."

"Her case?"

"Her suitcase yes, obviously. Murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case, so?"

"So, there's no other way, we'll just have to risk it," Sherlock mumbled to himself, "On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text," Sherlock ordered as he stretched his arm out, offering her phone back.

"You brought me here to send a text?"

"Text, yes, the number on my desk."

Jane just sighed in frustration and took her phone back as she worriedly looked out the window. "What's wrong?," Sherlock asked.

"I just met a friend of yours," she said as she continued to look out the windows.

"A friend?," Sherlock asked in a surprised voice.

"An enemy," Jane clarified.

"Oh. Which one?"

Jane quickly looked at Sherlock and said, "Your arch enemy, according to him. Do people have arch enemies?"

Sherlock just glance over at her and asked, "Did he offer you any money to spy one me?"

"Yes," she replied honestly

"Did you take it?"

"No."

"Pity, we could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you have ever me and not my problem right now. On my desk, the number," he demanded.

Jane sighed at his petulance and picked up the piece of paper from his desk and began typing it in. "Once you've got the number, type these words exactly," Sherlock commanded, "'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I've must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland St., please come,'" Sherlock dictated. Jane typed it in and look at him worriedly, "You blacked out?," she asked.

"What? No! Type and send it quickly!," he demanded, got up from the black leather couch, and suddenly pulled a pink case out of hiding as Jane sent the message as quickly as she could.

"That's the pink lady's case! That's Jennifer Wilson's case!," Jane exclaimed as Sherlock put in on a small footstool, opened the case, and sat down in a black, leather armchair.

"Yes," he sighed, "Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

"Why not? Considering the text I just made you send and the fact that I have her case it would be a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume your the murderer?"

"Now and then, yes," explained Sherlock.

"How did you get that?," Jane asked as she sat in the old, stuffy armchair with a Union Jack pillow against her back, across from Sherlock.

"By looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in a car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves. Particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So, obviously he felt compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it with him. It wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked ever back street wide enough for a car, five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and any way you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"You got all that just because you realized the case could be pink?," Jane asked in awe.

"Of course it would be pink. What else would it be?"

"Why didn't I think of that?," Jane asked herself.

"Because your an idiot," Sherlock replied, as he saw her mortified expression, he said, "Don't worry, most people are. Now look do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?," Jane said, somewhat insulted, but still intrigued.

"Her phone! Where's her mobile phone? There's no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she's had one; that's her number you just texted."

"Maybe she left it at home," Jane suggested.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

Jane was amazed yet again, before realizing what Sherlock was saying, "Hold on, why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is where her mobile phone is now?'

"Maybe she lost it?," Jane asked hopefully.

"Or maybe...," Sherlock prompted.

"The murderer? You think the murderer has the phone?! Did I just text a murderer?!," Jane demanded incredulously. Suddenly Jane's phone began to ring, but it had a withheld caller I.D.

"Few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody just found that phone, they would ignore a text like tat, but the murderer would panic!," Sherlock exclaimed as he jumped up, shut the suit case, and put on his coat and scarf.

"Have you talked to the police?," Jane asked.

"Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to me?'

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull," Sherlock explain with a slight pout.

"So, I'm basically filling in for your skull?!"

"Don't worry, your doing just fine. Well?," he questioned, waiting at the door.

"Well, what?"

"Well you could just sit there and watch telly, or..."

"You want me to come with you?"

"I like company when I go out and I think better when I talk aloud. Skull just attracts attention,so? Problem?," Sherlock asked as he noticed Jane's distrustful facial expression.

"Yeah, Sgt. Donovan warned me about you. She said you get off on this, you enjoy it."

Sherlock just smiled and said, "And I said 'Dangerous,' and here your are," as he left the room.

"Dammit!," Jane cursed to herself as she grabbed her can and followed after the strange consultant detective who promised danger.

**AN: Can you believe that this chapter and the previous one were actually written to be one long chapter?! As I was typing this up, I realized how long that would be and decided to split it up! Still pretty long chapters though! Wooh! I'm tired, just thinking about it! Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hello and welcome back all those who I haven't scared off yet. I also should mention that I tend to switch back and forth between POVs; seemingly on a whim, so I hope it's not too confusing. As always, I don't own anything and please read and review.**

**Ch. 6 - "If It's Not Baroque, Don't Fix It"**

Sherlock and Jane walked down the main road while Sherlock was busy making deductions aloud, "Who hunts in a crowd? Who passes unseen?" "I don't know, who?," questioned Jane, slightly in awe of the detective beside her. "I have no idea," Sherlock finally said, "but I love the smart one, especially serial killers!"

"Why do you say that?," Jane questioned

"Because, the always want the same thing; an audience. That's the frailty of genius, Jane; it needs an audience," he explained.

"Right," Jane dryly replied, mentally deciding to become this man's audience; for it seemed like he desperately needed one as they continued to walk down the sidewalk.

Sherlock and Jane were quickly situated by a large window in a small Italian place, when suddenly a large man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail came up to their table, "Sherlock!," the large man greeted, "Anything on the menu! Anything you want, for you and your date," he said as he handed them a menu. Jane quickly looked up at Sherlock, then at the large man, "I'm not his date," she said. Sherlock just ignored her slightly panicked look and introduced the large man, "Jane, this is Angelo. I successfully proved that he wasn't involved with a triple murder, because he was on the opposite side of London breaking into a house at the time." "This man cleared my name," Angelo said with a wide smile.

"I cleared it a bit," Sherlock said.

"He saved me from going to jail."

"You did go to jail."

"You just take your time and I'll bring a candle for the table; more romantic," the large man said as he turned away. Before she knew it, Angelo came back, took Jane's order, and placed a candle on the table before she could explain that she was just Sherlock's assistant.

Jane happily tucked into her meal and tried to make conversation with Sherlock who was busy intently staring out the window. "You know normal people don't have arch enemies," Jane said.

"Really, that sounds dull," Sherlock replied, never taking his eyes off the window, "What do normal people have?"

"You know; people they like, people they don't like, girlfriends, boyfriends."

"Like I said, dull."

"So are you in a relationship?," Jane asked awkwardly.

Sherlock finally looked over at her and said, "Relationships are not my area."

"Okay, that's fine. Your unattached, like me," Jane replied awkwardly.

Sherlock was silent for a while before replying, "Jane, although I'm flattered by your interest; you should know that I consider myself married to my work."

Jane quickly shook her head, "No, no! I'm not...," she awkwardly cleared her throat and said, "I'm just saying, it's fine. It's all fine."

"Good," Sherlock replied, before turning his attention back to the window.

* * *

"Oh, a cab just pulled up outside the building that's clever! Is it clever? Why is it clever?," Sherlock said to himself as Jane looked over her shoulder to see outside, "Don't stare!," he commanded.

"Why? You're staring," Jane replied.

"Yes, but we can't both be staring," he said as he quickly put his coat and scarf back on and dashed out the door.

Jane watched him rum out to the street and nearly miss a car, before resigning herself to run after the detective, not realizing she left her cane behind her.

* * *

Before she knew it, Jane was running behind Sherlock across London, through buildings, and jumping across rooftops, before finally stopping the cab. "Stop, police!," Sherlock yelled as he pulled out a badge and opened the back door to a confused looking man. "Is there something wrong?," the man questioned in an American accent. "No! Your not it!," Sherlock yelled out in frustration, "See Jane, look at his teeth, and his bag that says 'LAX'! Clearly, he's here on holiday from California!"

"Are you the police?," the man questioned, growing more confused.

"Yes, just routine check," Sherlock smoothly lied, "Welcome to London."

The cab drove off and Jane grabbed the badge out of Sherlock's hand. "'Detective Inspector Lestrade,'" she read aloud, "Why do you have this?"

"I pick pocket him when he gets annoying. You can have that one, I have more at home," Sherlock replied.

Jane couldn't help herself, but she started giggling. Sherlock looked at her, arching an eyebrow in confusion. "Nothing," she replied, seeing his confused face, "It's just, 'Welcome to London!'," she giggled. Sherlock allowed himself a small smile at her twinkling laughter, before noticing that he man they just stopped was talking to real police officers and pointing at them. "Got your breath back?," Sherlock asked Jane. "Ready when you are," Jane replied as they turned down the street and ran after Sherlock as he lead them back to the manor.

* * *

Jane found herself standing next to Sherlock in the foyer of the manor, giggling and trying to catch her breath. "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done," she giggled.

Sherlock laughed, "You invaded Afghanistan," he pointed out.

"Yes, but that wasn't just me," she laughed, "Why are we not back at the restaurant?"

"Oh, it was a long shot anyway. I just wanted to make a point," he said as he looked at her.

"What point?"

"You," he replied, ignoring her confused expression as he called out for Mrs. Hudson, "Mrs. Hudson! Dr. Watson will be living here!"

"Who says?," the confused doctor asked.

"The man at the door," Sherlock replied with a knowing smile as someone knocked on the door.

Jane cautiously opened the door to see Angelo standing at the door, holding her forgotten cane, "Sherlock texted me, saying that you forgot this," he explained as he handed her cane back to the awestruck doctor. "Thank you. Thank you very much!," she exclaimed as she watched him walk away. She closed the door and turned to see Sherlock staring at her with a knowing smile, but before she could she could ask about her now cured leg, Mrs. Hudson came tottering up to them, obviously upset, "Oh Sherlock, what did you do this time?," she said with tears in her eyes. "Mrs. Hudson?," Sherlock questioned. "Upstairs, in your study," the kind old woman pointed out.

* * *

Sherlock busted through the door to his study with Jane faithfully behind him as he came across Lestrade sitting in his armchair with a team of people combing through his belongings.

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?," Lestrade asked, "I knew you would find the suitcase eventually."

"Then what's all this then?!," Sherlock angrily asked.

"A drugs bust," Lestrade said.

"A drugs bust? Really? This guy?," Jane asked exasperated, "I'm sure you could look around here all day and not find anything that could be considered recreational!"

"Jane, you can shut up now," Sherlock quietly said.

"Ya, but Sherlock...," Jane began, before she saw the look in his silver eyes, realizing she was wrong, "Really? You?," she asked, slightly disappointed.

"Shut up!," he demanded and turned back to Lestrade exclaiming, "Besides, I'm clean!"

"Yeah, but is the rest of the house?," Lestrade asked.

"I wont be your sniffer dog!"

"Oh, don't worry. Anderson is my sniffer dog."

"Anderson!," Sherlock yelled, finally noticing the rat faced man in the corner, "What are you doing here?!"

"Oh, I volunteered," the rat faced man said.

"Actually a lot of them volunteered," Lestrade said before Donovan came into the room holding a bowel of eyeballs.

"Are these human eyeballs?," Donovan asked in disgust. "They're for an experiment!," Sherlock yelled.

"They were in the microwave," Donovan replied.

"Put those back!," Sherlock demanded.

"I could continue this or I can put a stop to this if we work together," Lestrade said as he made his way to Sherlock.

"Fine," Sherlock replied with a pout.

"Good, it's like working with a child sometimes," Lestrade said exasperatedly, "We found Rachel."

"Good! Where is she? I need to interrogate her!," Sherlock exclaimed happily.

"That may be a little difficult, considering the fact that she's been dead for fourteen years."

Sherlock looked absolutely puzzled, "Why? Why would she write that name?"

"Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter," Lestrade said solemnly

"Why?," Sherlock asked again, "Why would she think of that?"

"Why would she think to write her daughter's name?," Anderson questioned in disgust, "You really are a psychopath."

"I'm a high functioning sociopath! Do your homework!," Sherlock yelled at the rat-faced man, "But why?! She's been dead for fourteen years! Surely Jennifer Wilson would have gotten over it by now!."

Suddenly the room went so quiet that one would hear a pin drop. "Ya, definitely seeing sociopath now," Anderson mumbled, breaking the awkward tension. Sherlock looked around the aghast faces around him before leaning towards Jane and asked, "Not good?"

"A bit not good," Jane replied dryly.

"Ya, but if you were dying Jane; what would your last thoughts be?!"

"Please God, let me live," Jane replied solemnly

"Oh Jane!," Sherlock cried out in frustration, "Use your imagination! You can do better than that!"

"I don't have to," Jane said, slightly hurt by his words.

Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat, knowing that he definitely stepped over the line with his new assistant. "Yes, but it would have taken time for her to scratch out that name! It would have been painful! There must be another reason!," he exclaimed as he paced around the room, before suddenly turning around shouting, "Rachel! Don't you get it?! Rachel!" He looked around to see blank faces staring at him in confusion.

"Oh, look at you lot, your so blank. Is it nice not to be me, it must be really relaxing," Sherlock admonished. "Yes okay, what about Rachel," Jane asked.

"Oh, Jennifer Wilson was smart! Smarter than you lot and she's dead! Rachel wasn't just her daughter's name! Jennifer Wilson must have planted her phone on the killer, which leads us right to him!," Sherlock exclaimed.

"How does that help?," Anderson asked.

"Anderson, please shut up! You lower the IQ of the entire neighborhood with your inane ramblings!," Sherlock said, quickly taking out Jane's laptop that he had recently "borrowed." Jane had to quickly stop herself from laughing at Sherlock's remarks towards Anderson, before realizing that Sherlock had her laptop. She decided to admonish the detective later about personal property. "Jennifer Wilson's phone is a smart phone with GPS enabled," Sherlock replied, bringing up a website that tracks phones, "She planted the phone on the killer, knowing she was going to her death, and left a message for us to follow him, and now everybody together now: the password to track the phone is...," Sherlock said as he typed. "Rachel," Jane finished as a map loaded onto the screen. Sherlock quickly spun away talking excitedly to Lestrade, not noticing Jane's worried tone as she called him back to the laptop.

"Sherlock? It says it's here at 221 Baker St.," Jane said worriedly, "But how can it be here?" Lestrade just sighed tiredly as he called out to his crew, "All right guys, we're also looking for a mobile phone!"

"Sherlock, there's a cab here for you," Mrs. Hudson said as she came into the room.

"I didn't order any cab!," he replied angrily.

"But Sherlock...," Mrs. Hudson admonished.

"Mrs. Hudson, not now!," he yelled and she quickly tottered back downstairs. Sherlock stood stock still in the middle of the room before reading a text message off of his phone and quietly walked out of the room.

"Sherlock," Jane called out to him, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, fine," he said distractfully, "Just popping out for some air."

"I'll try the locator again," Jane said, hoping to help the distracted detective..

"Yes, go ahead and do that," he said over his shoulder and quickly left the room.

Jane was trying to call Jennifer Wilson's phone, but didn't hear it within the study. "It's ringing out, but it's not here," Jane told Lestrade as she looked out the window to see Sherlock get into a cab. "Sherlock just left, he got into a cab," she told Lestrade. Lestrade just sighed before Donovan angrily condemned Sherlock for leaving saying, "See, he'll just disappoint you in the end! We're wasting our time here!" Lestrade sighed again and ordered the team to leave the manor. "If you can't stand him, why do you come to him," Jane couldn't help but ask Lestrade. Lestrade paused at the door, before slowly turning towards Jane and replied, "I've known Sherlock for five years, and I'm nowhere near understanding him that you are, but Sherlock is a great man and maybe one if we're really lucky; he'll become a good one." Lestrade quietly left the manor, leaving Jane alone in Sherlock's study.

Jane considered gong back to her bedsit to at least pack up her things when suddenly her laptop loaded the map showing the phone, now in a completely different place. Jane sighed in exasperation as she realized what Sherlock had done. She quickly grabbed her laptop and hurriedly ran out the manor and towards the main road to try and hail a cab. She had to hurry, before Sherlock did anything stupid!


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Blah, blah, blah. Nothing new to report. I own nothing and please read and review!**

**Ch. 7 - "Bittersweet and Strange"**

Jane was dropped off at the location where the phone was located, now all she had to do was find Sherlock. She quickly chose the building on the left, hoping she chose the correct building. It seemed like forever that she was searching for Sherlock; yelling out his name, checking every room, but to no avail. Jane was quickly growing panicked; what if Sherlock was hurt or worse?! Jane quickly pushed aside a thought that wondered why she was so protective of a man that she just met as she ran through the building, coming to a stop when she noticed out the window; Sherlock and an old man in the building directly opposite her. "Sherlock!," she yelled, hoping to get his attention, but to no avail.

She watched in horror as Sherlock lifted a pill to the light, looking at it in wonder, and slowly brought the pill to his bow shaped lips. Jane couldn't take it anymore! She had to help, even is she had to save Sherlock from himself, she wasn't about to let him die! She quickly pulled her handgun out from her trousers, aimed, and shot. She had just enough time to see that she hit her mark and quickly left before anyone noticed that she was the shooter.

* * *

Jane found herself outside, surrounded by police as she watched Sherlock torturing the poor EMT that was trying to put a shock blancet around Sherlock's shoulders. She couldn't help but smile as Lestrade made his way over to new new colleague. Suddenly Sherlock glanced in her direction and quickly made his way over to her, brushing Lestrade's questions off. "Donovan was just telling me all about it. Two pill huh? Terrible situation," Jane said to him as way of greeting.

"Yes, very terrible," Sherlock said, before silently adding, "Nice shot."

"Oh what?," Jane asked, feigning innocence, "I guess it was at that distance."

"You would know," Sherlock said with a smile.

Jane awkwardly cleared her throat, before Sherlock suddenly asked, "Are you okay?"

"Of course, I'm okay? Why wouldn't I be?," Jane asked, confused.

"You did just kill a man."

"Yes, it's true," Jane sighed, "But he wasn't a very nice man."

"No, I suppose he wasn't and frankly a bloody awful cabbie. You should have seen the route he took to get here."

Jane couldn't help but start giggling like a school girl at Sherlock's comments, "Sherlock!," she admonished between giggles, "We can't giggle, we're at a crime scene!"

"I'm not the one who shot someone!," Sherlock said with a laugh.

"Sorry," Jane apologized to the distraught looking police officers around them, "It's just the shock."

"Are you hungry?," Sherlock quietly asked.

"Starving," Jane replied.

"I know a Chinese place not to far from here. You can always tell a good Chinese place by the bottom third of the front door."

Jane suddenly came to a halt as she saw the posh man that "kidnapped" her exit a sleek, black car. "Sherlock, that's him," she pointed out, "That's the man I was talking about."

"I know exactly who that is," Sherlock said in disgust as he walked up to the posh man and 'Anthea.' "Mycroft, what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock, so nice to see you helping the police. A civil courtesy, was it?," the posh man, named Mycroft said with a fake smile.

"How's the diet? Gaining I see."

"Losing actually," Mycroft said with his fake smile, "Sherlock, when are you going to put aside this childish feud and realize that we're on the same side?'

"We're not on the same side!," Sherlock said indigntly.

"Oh come on, Sherlock. Mummy did always hate us fighting. You don't want to upset her memory now do you?"

"Me, upset her?! I'm not the one who upset her, Mycroft!"

Jane looked on in confusion between the two bickering men. "Wait a minute," she intruppted, "Who's 'Mummy'?"

"Mummy," Sherlock explained, "Our mother."

"You're brothers?," Jane asked, surprised

"Yes, meet my brother, Mycroft," Sherlock introduced.

"Right," Jane said, "So he's not, I don't know, a criminal mastermind?"

"The closest thing to it," Sherlock said with a smile.

"I have a minor office in the British government, no matter what Sherlock says," Mycroft argued.

"He is the British government and in his free time he works with the British CIA and Secret Service," Sherlock said.

Mycroft awkwardly cleared his throat and swung his umbrella before Sherlock said, "Well bye Mycroft. Try not to start a war on the way home; you know what that does to traffic." Sherlock quickly walked away and Jane awkwardly turned to Mycroft and asked, "So it really is just a childish feud and you really are worried about him."

"Quite," Mycroft agreed, "You can imagine the Christmas dinners."

"Oh gosh no!," Jane replied, not even wanting to contemplate it before asking, "May I ask why you don't live in the manor?"

"Yes you may, Dr. Watson. Our mother left it to Sherlock and I have my own large home in central London. Besides, Sherlock doesn't want me around all the time," he explained.

"Right, well goodbye," she called out as she caught up with Sherlock.

Interesting woman, that soldier," Mycroft remarked to 'Anthea,' "She could be the making of my brother and quite possibly his last hope before...," Mycroft said, not able to finish his sentence, "Either way, raise security levels to Code Three for Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Jane Watson."

* * *

"You were going to take that bloody pill, weren't you?," Jane asked Sherlock as she caught up to the tall detective.

"Of course not, knew you would show up," he replied.

"No you didn't. That's how you get your kick, isn't it? You would risk your life to prove you're more clever."

"Why would I do that?," Sherlock asked with a smile.

"Because your an idiot," Jane laughed as they walked towards the main road. As Jane walked next to Sherlock, she couldn't help but think that meeting the enimatic detective was just the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

"What are you smiling about?," Jane asked Sherlock.

"Nothing, just Moriarty," he said.

"What's Moriarty?"

"I have no idea," Sherlock said with a smile.

* * *

"Well, well, well," the cold-voiced man said as he gently brushed his fingers across the newest photo of Jane, "For someone who seems so ordinary, you really can be quite extraordinary. I quite like to think I will meet you soon, my dear Dr. Watson," he said with an evil, knowing smile.

**AN: That's the end of "A Study in Pink" episode. I should let my dear readers know that not all the episodes will be as long as this one. Actually, I think the rest of them are only a few chapters long (like one or two chapters long at the most for one episode). And yes, I did make a "Casablanca" reference towards the end there. (I don't own "Casablanca"!). Anyway, please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I'm going to warn my dear readers now, that this is the point where I start jumping around like crazy! I wont write a whole episode (kind of like I did with "A Study in Pink"), but instead just go with whatever the plot bunnies decided to go with. I hope it doesn't confuse y'all. I chose this chapter title because it reminds me of Jane's many failed dates! Te he! Anyway, I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 8 - "Flowers, Chocolates, Promises You Don't Intend To Keep..."**

Sherlock watched Jane leave for her "date" with a Dr. Sam Sawyer that she had met at the A&E she works in, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel a slight pang of jealousy for both Jane's "date" and her work. They kept her away from him when he needed her around! But, no! Jane just had to prove how moral and noble she was by not only assisting him in his work, but pays for her room and board by her own means. Sherlock was surprised at himself; he never "needed" anyone before! He couldn't understand why he needed the short, good natured doctor now. Sherlock quickly pushed these distracting and frustrating thoughts aside to be deleted later, he refused to consider that maybe Jane could be... 'No!,' he rationalized to himself, 'She's just my colleague, barely even a friend. There's no way she could love me nor am I capable of love.' Sherlock had long given up any hope of learning to love, so why should he try now? Sherlock realized that these thoughts were getting him nowhere, so he quickly focused back on the case as he left the manor and hurried to the circus; and if he was secretly glad to interrupt Jane's "date," then no one would be the wiser.

* * *

Jane woke up and found that she was tied to a chair in an underground tunnel and had her head really hurt. She glanced around her surroundings and saw Sam tied to a chair next to her with a gag in his mouth, looking at her with worry. "Oh, your awake Dr. Watson. Good, now you can answer my questions," an older Chinese woman wearing a black leather jacket and gloves said as she pointed a gun at Sam. Jane was slightly confused as to why she was here with a Chinese woman pointing a gun at her date, when she remembered and immediately put the blame on a certain exasperating detective, whom she just happened to live with.

It was Sherlock's fault for taking the case in the first place and now she was kidnapped by Chinese gang members with a penchant for writing in code. "Now Dr. Watson, you will tell us where the jade pen is or I'll kill your handsome companion," the woman threatened, bringing Jane out of her thoughts of blaming Sherlock and refocusing her attention on her current situation. "I don't know anything about a jade pen!," Jane retorted angrily, trying to draw the Chinese woman's attention and gun away from Sam and towards herself.

"Oh Dr. Watson, don't play dumb with me," the woman replying, keeping her gun pointed at Sam, "I know you work with Sherlock Holmes. He would have told you all about it. Now, where is it?!," she demanded and cocked her gun, coming closer to Sam.

"Look, I don't know anything about any bloody jade pen!," Jane yelled out, "Why don't you ask that exasperating detective, Sherlock Holmes yourself!"

"Exasperating?," Sherlock's baritone voice suddenly called out, "That's not how you would normally describe me, Jane. How would you normally describe me Jane? 'Enigmatic,' I remember as a choice description."

"Late," Jane dryly replied in relief and before she knew it Sherlock had untied her and she found herself fighting alongside Sherlock to escape the crazy Chinese gang. Fighting aloud Sherlock suddenly brought back a memory of Sherlock holding her by the shoulders and spinning her around to try and get her to remember the code. Jane quickly fought back the memory and the blush that arose to her cheeks by quickly untying Sam and running away with Sherlock leading the way.

* * *

To say Jane was confused by her recent feelings for the genius detective she lived with was putting it mildly. She was sitting in her armchair by fireplace with the Union Jack pillow against her back and her laptop perched on her lap as she tried to blog about the newest case that she was thinking about calling 'The Blind Banker.' Sure Sam was sweet and kind, and probably what she needed to keep herself grounded while living an extraordinary life chasing after Sherlock; but there was something about Sherlock that continually drew her in and made her overly of the reckless man. Sherlock was indeed an enigma; one minute he was sweet and almost caring towards Mrs. Hudson, the next he's acting like a petulant child towards Lestrade and Mycroft, and then the next he's showing off his admittedly amazing genius towards herself. True, he was obviously handsome, but his lack of social understanding quickly turned people away. 'And away,' she rationalized to herself, 'Why would he like me? I'm just ordinary there's nothing special about me and he's all together extraordinary. I'm just his colleague.' Jane quickly shoved these confusing thoughts about Sherlock to the back of her mind, quickly reminding herself that 'relationships weren't Sherlock's area' and he was 'married to his work.' Besides, she was more than happy just being the great detective's friend; or so she kept telling herself.

* * *

"Soon, my dear Dr. Watson. We will soon meet," the cold-voiced man said as he eyed the numerous photographs that littered his desk, all of them were different pictures of the doctor. He slowly raised his black eyes towards the old Chinese woman, groveling on his floor before him. "You were supposed to take her to me!," he yelled, "You have greatly disappointed me! Mr. Moran, would you please show this disgusting heap of a woman her way out!" He then ignored the gun shot that echoed throughout the room as he straightened his Westwood suit and let his gaze slowly take in the photos of Dr. Jane Watson yet again. "Well, Mr. Moran, we may have been temporarily detoured from finally meeting the dear doctor and great detective; but I have a plan," he said as he pulled out Jennifer Wilson's pink phone. "A plan that will prove to the dear doctor that Sherlock Holmes has no heart and will hopefully win her over to my side, where she truly belongs."

**AN2: Well, that's the end of "The Blind Banker." (See I told you that I would skip around and that the episodes will be a lot shorter in chapter terms). Anyway please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hello my dear readers! The chapter's title came from me thinking about Sherlock's boredom and the argument between Jane and Sherlock about the "The Great Game" case. Anyways, please read and review.**

**Ch. 9 - "The Beast's Rage"**

'Bored,' Sherlock thought tiredly to himself as he sat upside down in his armchair, pointing Jane's gun at the yellow smiley face that he had recently spray painted onto the green wallpaper in his study. He quickly jump up onto his feet and fired the gun in rapid succession yelling, "Bored," between every shot, when Jane hurriedly came into the room, dropped the Tesco's bags she was holding, and snatched her gun away from Sherlock. "I see you went grocery shopping with Mrs. Hudson again," Sherlock pointed out with a pout as Jane took away her gun. "Correct once again, oh great detective," Jane sarcastically remarked as she disarmed her gum, "Now what the hell have you been doing?!" "I'm bored, Jane!," Sherlock pouted as he slumped onto the couch, "No cases, no experiments worth interest, even my violin has become dull! I need a case and Lestrade doesn't have anything for me!" Before Jane could reply, Mycroft strolling into the room as if he owned the place, swinging his umbrella. "Causing a nuisance I see," he said with his signature fake smile, "Lucky for you I have a case that requires your expert legwork." "Not interested," Sherlock dully replied as he picked up his violin and began plucking at the strings, knowing it would annoy his older brother. Jane just sighed tiredly, put the gun in the back of her trousers, picked up the forgotten grocery bags, and left the two brothers to bicker on their own.

"Sherlock, I'm serious," Mycroft said, "I know you have been bored lately and this case will at least sett off your boredom." Sherlock simply ignored the government official as he continued to abuse his violin. Mycroft sighed, knowing that his younger brother would probably never take a case from him. "All right, if you don't want to talk about that, why don't we talk about the good doctor that just happens to live here." Sherlock suddenly stopped torturing his violin and glared at his brother saying, "I know what your going to say, but drop it Mycroft! I've given up on that long ago and I wont drag Jane into it and get both of our hopes up," he said with finality.

"Sherlock, your 34! You know what that means!," Mycroft pleaded to his younger brother.

"Yes," Sherlock said sadly, "I don't have much time left. But I would rather spend the rest of my time with Jane as my friend and try to be happy for her and her 'boyfriend' Dr. Sam Sawyer."

"Oh Sherlock," Mycroft said sadly, "Why are you doing this? You have a real chance! Can't you see that...," Mycroft suddenly stopped as Jane walked back into the study with a tea tray. "Thank you Jane, but I'm afraid I've outstayed my welcome," Mycroft said, eying his brother who had gone back to torturing his poor violin and ignoring him.

"Oh right," Jane said as she sat the tea tray on the small coffee table, "I'll walk you to the door then."

As Mycroft was leaving the manor, he turned and said to Jane, "Listen Jane, he need something to keep him occupied, however he wont accept my help. This case is of national importance, would you please take the case and hopefully pique Sherlock's interest?" Jane was silent as she considered what she could tell the government official, she sighed quietly and nodded her head in an affirmative; letting Mycroft give her the details of the case before he left.

Sherlock was almost giddy with excitement when he received the pink phone with five pips. It was the best game Sherlock ever played, but Jane was not as happy as he was. Jane was disappointed in him, but he couldn't let himself care. Sentiment was a chemical defect found on the losing side and even for Jane, he couldn't let himself care. Caring wouldn't help him solve the case, so why should he start now? Sherlock looked out the window to see Jane angrily walking away and he would not bring himself to care! 'She's just my colleague,' he thought to himself, 'I will not get my hopes up for her!' Sherlock spun dramatically around and quickly sent a message to whoever was challenging him; saying that he wanted to meet at the pool where Carl Powers died.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Nothing really new to report, only that I love my dear readers! As always I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 10 - "There May Be Something There That Wasn't There Before"**

Jane woke up with a splitting headache and quickly realized that she had been kidnapped once again, only this time by the crazy bomber sending Sherlock his "intriguing" puzzles. Jane tried to move, but realized that she was tied to a char and that she was wearing a heavy Semtex vest under her oversized parka. She looked down and saw that the vest was littered with wires and blinking lights and Jane immediately realized that she was the last pip on that bloody pink phone! "Hello Dr. Watson," a cold, steely voice with an Irish tilt to it called out, "I've just been dying to finally meet the woman who could melt the ice that is Sherlock Holmes' heart." Jane looked over to see a short, dark-haired man with cold, black eyes, wearing a Westwood suit before she recognized him as Jim from IT that was supposedly Molly's newest boyfriend, even if he did try to slip her his number. "Jim? Jim from IT?," the man taunted her, seeing her confused expression, "Let me introduce myself, I'm Jim Moriarty and you my dear are now going to be apart of a little experiment I've set up for our favorite detective."

"This is quite the turn up isn't it Sherlock?," Jane said emotionlessly, repeating the words that was whispered into her earpiece as she stared at Sherlock and was taken back by the brief glimpse of betrayal that graced across his pale face, but as soon as she moved her jacket to the side to let Sherlock see the bomb strapped o her, his expression was quickly masked. "I did give her my number," Moriarty's voice called out, drawing Sherlock's attention. "All the little games and puzzles were all a distraction from keeping me from this, wasn't it?," Sherlock asked as he held up a memory stick and pulled out Jane's handgun with his other hand. "Oh Sherlock, I just wanted to see you dance and to perform a little experiment," Moriarty singsonged as to took the memory stick and through it into the pool.

Jane found herself relieved as Moriarty sauntered out of the pool area and Sherlock quickly ran over to her, knelt before her, and ripped off the offending Semtex vest along with her oversized parka. "Sherlock, I'm fine!," Jane reassured him as Sherlock paced back and forth as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. "What you did, what you offered to do...," Sherlock said, drawing attention to the fact that Jane was willing to sacrifice herself so that he could escape, "that was good." Jane just laughed breathlessly as she sat against the wall, facing the pool. "People will talk," she said, trying to calm her racing heart, as she saw Sherlock's confused expression, she elaborated by saying, "You taking my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool; people will talk." Sherlock just smiled and said, "People do little else."

Before Jane could even reply, Moriarty came waltzing back in saying, "Sorry! I'm just so changeable! I can't let you go, I just can't," he singsonged as his cold, black eyes were drawn towards Jane. Sherlock silently glanced over at Jane as he pointed his gun at the bomb laying a few feet away ans as he saw her silent approval of his plan, he turned his icy gaze towards Moriarty. Jane was quickly preparing herself to do all she could to save Sherlock when a BeeGee's song suddenly echoed throughout the pool.

Moriarty sighed in frustration as he asked, "Do you mind if I take this?," as he indicated that his phone was the thing from where the BeeGee's song was coming from. "No, go ahead," Sherlock calmly replied, never moving the gun. Moriarty walked towards the end of the pool and answered his phone. "What?!," he yelled out at whoever was on the other end, "Say that again!" Jane and Sherlock glanced at each other in confusion as Moriarty yelled into his phone, "You had better be telling the truth or I will skin you alive!" He slowly turned around as he glanced between Sherlock and Jane with his gaze lingering on Jane as he began talking into his phone with a calmer voice, "All right, but I will have another little job for you after this." Moriarty quickly hung up his phone and told Sherlock, "Well, looks like I'll be letting you go after all, but I will be keeping watch." Moriarty sauntered out once again as Sherlock called out, "Catch you later." "No you wont," Moriarty singsonged and left the doctor and the detective in the pool area that had killed Carl Powers. Moriarty walked away, already planning his next little experiment that will eventually win over a certain doctor to his side.

**AN2: And that's the end of "The Great Game" and the end of season one (with a little bit of season two thrown in there) of "Sherlock." Tune in next time for more! (I always wanted to say that!) Please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hello and welcome to season two of "Sherlock". I have to stress once again that if you have not seen the BBC show "Sherlock", stop reading and go watch it because this fic does contain spoilers! Again, I also have to stress that the episodes will not be very long (in terms of chapters), because I like to skip around. This chapter's title; for me represents Irene and her affect on Jane and Sherlock. Anyway, let's get on with the show; as always I don't own anything and please read and review.**

**Ch. 11 - "A Rose In The West Wing"**

It had been a couple of weeks since "The Pool Incident" and Jane was decidedly confused about her feelings towards the enigmatic detective. Ever since that night, Sherlock had seem to actually care about Jane; he would always wait, instead of rushing off like before. He would continually ask for her help or seek permission to borrow her things, instead of just taking things or assuming she was there to help and therefore didn't needed to be asked, and he seemed to care more about how he reacted towards others if Jane was around; for he would constantly seem to stop himself from making decidedly "not good" comments. It was if Sherlock was trying to change himself for her, but why would her do that, Jane wondered to herself as she was blogging about the newest case, sure she would sacrifice herself for him, but that shouldn't be all that surprising; she did kill for him even though she barely knew Sherlock at the time. Jane had to admit to herself that her feelings for Sherlock had grower steadily stronger; from colleagues, to friends, to... Jane didn't know what they were. It was these steadily growing feelings that lead Jane to finally breaking things off with Sam and had tried not to date since; for she knew she couldn't wholeheartedly be in a relationship if she was having feelings towards another. Jane had realized that her thought were almost completely consumed by Sherlock and she was oddly okay with that. Sherlock was slowing becoming everything for Jane and she realized with a small smile gracing her lips; that she wouldn't change that for the world.

"Well, Ms. Adler," Moriarty's cold voice stated as his beautiful completely stared at the photograph of Sherlock and Jane. The dark-haired beauty raised her striking green eyes towards Moriarty and smiled seductively as she agreed to his proposal before letting her gaze go back to the photograph of the tall, handsome detective.

'Damn that phone!,' Jane thought as jealousy coursed through her veins when that damned moan coming from Sherlock's phone echoed through the room once again. As Sherlock glanced at his phone again, Jane had to fight the urge to throw the phone against the wall! 'Of course he wouldn't want me,' Jane thought solemnly, 'Why would he when he could have "The Woman" that was almost as smart as him and devastatingly beautiful to boot.' Jane was just Sherlock's ordinary assistant with PTSD. Jane sighed sadly as Sherlock continued to ignore her in favor of his phone and violin. Jane contemplated calling a man named Jack, who had given her his number earlier; just to feel wanted.

Irene Adler, "The Woman," was dead and Jane felt incredible sad for Sherlock. Irene Adler seemed almost made for Sherlock; she was beautiful, smart, and most of all she intrigued Sherlock. Jane knew that she would never be as beautiful nor as smart as Irene, nor would she be able to hold Sherlock's interest like Irene did; but Jane knew that she would never be able to leave Sherlock's side, especially now when he needed a friend the most. Sherlock suddenly busted into the study, looked around, grabbed his violin, and angrily told Jane, "I hope you didn't mess up my sock index!,," as he spun dramatically out of the room and stomped into his own room.

Jane was slightly disappointed in herself, she should have trusted Sherlock; but Mycroft had called earlier and said that it would be a "danger night." Jane sighed sadly as she put away he book she was pretending to read as she waited for Sherlock to come back and silently passed by Sherlock's closed door, she heard his violin make some of the saddest music she had ever heard. Jane quickly blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over, and silently bid Sherlock a "Happy Christmas" before she climb the stairs, leading to her own room.

Jane couldn't believe her eyes! There she was, dressed in black that made her dark, red lipstick pop out. "The Woman," Irene Adler was alive and Jane could barely conceal her anger! Irene Adler had made everyone believe she was head, she fooled everybody, she had played Sherlock! Sherlock, who didn't "do" caring emotions, was affected by Irene and she played him! "Tell him your alive!," Jane demanded as her jaw tightened in anger. Irene just sighed, pulled out her phone, and began texting. "There," she said holding up her phone to Jane, "'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner'," she read out as she sent the message. "Why do you care?," Irene asked Jane. "I'm his friend and he deserves to know the truth!," Jane replied angrily. Before "The Woman" could reply, a moan echoed throughout the warehouse they were standing in, and Jane gasped at the realization that only Sherlock's phone ever made that noise, and that meant that Sherlock was here! Jane rushed out of the warehouse, hoping to catch Sherlock before he disappeared, but to no avail. Jane just sighed and resigned herself to wait for Sherlock back at the manor.

There she was, once again. Only this time, "The Woman" had made herself at home in Sherlock's bed! Jane was decidedly unhappy with the way Sherlock and Irene seemed to spark with their combined chemistry. Jane couldn't help but feel the angry jealousy as she saw Irene kiss Sherlock's cheek as he deduced the code on her phone in a matter of seconds. How Jane wished she could show her affections to the genius detective like that, but Jane knew better than to hope to be more that just Sherlock's friend/assistant/doctor/confidante/whatever Sherlock needed her to be. As Jane watched Sherlock go into his "mind palace," she decided to go get some air and maybe take that Jack guy's offer for drinks. She knew it wasn't fair to Jack to string him along, because she was feeling something; that she dare not even name or think; but at least this way she could feel wanted.

Jane hurried through the rain, cursing at herself for not grabbing an umbrella, when she saw Mycroft smoking outside of a cafe. "You don't smoke," Jane pointed out as she came to a stop before the posh, British government official. "And I don't often visit cafes," he said as he put out his cigarette and entered the cafe, expecting Jane to follow.

Jane didn't know what to do. Should she tell Sherlock the truth about Irene's death (apparently for real this time), or tell the lie that Mycroft had created; she could tell Sherlock that Irene had somehow got herself into the witness protection program in the States? Jane slowly walked towards Sherlock's kitchen where she found the detective doing an experiment. Jane sighed in affection as she watched him look through a microscope and decided that maybe a lie would be better than the truth. The lie that "The Woman" was alive wouldn't put Sherlock in that dark place he was in when he thought Irene was dead the first time; Jane decided she could never tell the truth and put him in that dark place again, she couldn't do that to him. Jane couldn't bare the thought of Sherlock being sad again, so she decided to kill him with kindness. Jane knew it was wrong of her to lie to her best friend, but she decided that Sherlock needed some good news after this whole fiasco; so she told him Mycroft's lie.

Sherlock was amazed at his assistant once again. Throughout the whole time he knew "The Woman," Sherlock could see the jealousy Jane was trying to conceal, even her somewhat desperate attempt at dating was to cover her growing attraction towards himself, and now here she was lying terribly about "The Woman's" fate. He could tell she was lying to try and spare his feeling, but why would she? He had ignored her; he was intrigued by "The Woman" and had ignored his faithful companion. So why did she still care so obviously for him? "The Woman" lied to save herself, but Jane was lying to save his feelings. Sherlock couldn't name the feeling that had made a home in the pit of his chest when he thought of the caring doctor; and that was the most frustrating thing of all.

**AN2: And that's the end of "A Scandal in Belgravia." Do y'all see what I mean when I say I like to skip around? Anyway, I hoped you liked it! Please read and review!**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Well, nothing new to report. All I wish to say is that I hope y'all are liking my fic so far! And that I hope the inspiration for the chapter title would be fairly obvious seeing as this chapter is "The Hounds of Baskerville." Anyways, as always I don't own anything and please read and review.**

**Ch. 12 - "The Attack of the Wolves"**

Moriarty angrily threw everything on his desk onto the floor. "Dammit! I want her and I want her now!," he screamed at Moran as he cautiously entered the room. "That damn Adler woman was supposed to drive them apart, but now they're closer than ever and "The Woman" has disappeared!," he ranted and screamed for a good, long while before gingerly picking up a photograph of Jane. "No! I will have her, one way or another! The Adler woman will pay when she is found and she will be found! Do I make myself clear Mr. Moran?!," he demanded as he straightened his Westwood suit. Moran silently nodded and left his employer to carefully collect his vast collection of photographs that had been thrown to the floor.

* * *

Jane had never seen Sherlock so afraid and it was making her sick with worry. She knew he was ranting about the deductions that his genius mind could see and that by seeing "The Hound," Sherlock was afraid he couldn't trust his own mind anymore. Jane knew all that, buy it still hurt when he yelled, "I don't have friends!" If anything, Jane thought she could be counted as Sherlock's friend. Jane had resigned herself to the fact that Sherlock would never look at her in a romantic light, and Jane didn't want to be like Molly; always blatantly throwing her affections towards Sherlock, only for them to be crushed. So Jane decided to be his friend and hoped that it would be enough for her, but apparently she wasn't even that!

* * *

Sherlock knew he had hurt Jane once again, he knew he had once again hurt his faithful companion. Before Jane, it was true that he had no friends; maybe his skull, but that was it. Before Jane, Sherlock was swimming in nothing without realizing it, but then Jane came along and suddenly he had a purpose as Jane became his conductor of light. Jane had suddenly made her presence a permanent fixture in his mind palace and somehow became his one and only friend without him even realized it. Now, he had hurt her and Sherlock couldn't bare the thought of her leaving him.

Sherlock eventually found Jane walking around a cemetery. "Jane, what I said last night was true; I don't have friends. I just have one," Sherlock said as he stared at Jane, hoping that he didn't drive away his only and and possibly... 'No!,' Sherlock suddenly stopped his thoughts, 'She would never love me. Sure she put up with me and is somewhat attracted to me, but she would never truly love a cold-hearted sociopath like me. Especially, not after how many times I've hurt her.'

Jane mentally cursed herself as she heard Sherlock's "apology." Jane was cursed to follow this man through thick and thin, and here he was actually considering her hurt feelings and trying to repair them! 'Yep,' she thought to herself as she followed Sherlock back to the labs of Baskerville, 'I'm damned for allowing myself to become so drawn to this frustrating man!' Jane just smiled a small smile, realizing that she would happily be damned as long as he was allowed to follow Sherlock.

* * *

Moriarty let a dangerous smile grace his lips as his glanced at this phone, "Time for you to burn, Sherlock."

**AN: And that's the end of "The Hounds of Baskerville". Tune in next time! Please review!**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Well my dear reader, welcome back! This chapter's title reminds me of how Sherlock is quickly put into a bad light and I equated that to the townspeople attack on the Beast's castle. As always I don't own anything and please read and review!**

**Ch. 13 - "The Attack of the Townspeople"**

** '**Actor Richard Brook has been proclaimed innocent and is now claiming that Sherlock Holmes was a fraud that had hired him to portray the terrorist known as "Jim Moriarty",' Jane read and then threw down down the newspaper in frustration, cursing at the stupidity of people. How could anyone believe that Sherlock was a fake?! There was no possible way he faked knowing all the things he did! No matter! Sherlock had Jane, his one true friend in the world, and there was no way anyone could convince her that the man that had known her in a glace, fixed her, and gave her purpose was a fake!

* * *

Sherlock smiled sadly as he watched Jane leave to answer the fake distress call. As he sat on the floor contemplating his life, he came to a shocking realization; after all his denial and refusal to believe in hope, Sherlock had learned to love! That's why he made her leave; if you love something, set it free, right? Sherlock looked at his watch again and decided that now was the time. Sherlock knew Moriarty wanted to make him burn, but Sherlock could at least hold on to the fact that he had learned to love and hopefully save Jane from the scorching flames.

**AN: I know, really short; but what are ya going to do? Tune in next time for the end of this fic! Please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Well my dear reader, this is the end! I want to thank y'all for reading, reviewing, favorting, following, etc., etc. As always I don't own anything, please read and review, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter of "The Doctor and the Detective."**

**Ch. 14 - "The Transformation"**

Sherlock walked calmly onto the roof of St. Bart's to see Moriarty's calmly sitting on the edge of the roof, dressed in his impeccable Westwood suit. "Come to face me alone, have you?," the consulting criminal asked in his cold voice.

"Well, you wanted me to burn and I care about her enough no to let her see," the consulting detective replied, more than ready to deal with whatever Moriarty threw his way.

"Oh, you care about her do you?! You can't care, it's not in your nature!," Moriarty yelled out.

"Let's just say, I've finally found a heart."

"She is mine!," the cold-eyed man screamed, "If she is you heart, then I will gladly burn the heart out of you!"

"It was all for her, wasn't it? All the times you tried to make me dance, all the games, all the puzzle, even Irene. They were all trying to prove to her that you were better for her than me. You were trying to prove to her that I had no heart," Sherlock said in realization.

"Yes, very good," Moriarty said as he circled Sherlock and waved his gun around.

Jane rushed back to the manor that she had called home, only to be greeted by Mrs. Hudson who was supposed to have been hurt. "Oh, hello dear," the sweet, old woman greeted cheerfully. 'Damn that noble git!,' Jane thought to herself when she realized what Sherlock must have done, then she rushed to get another cab and hopefully back to Sherlock before he did anything stupid. Jane had to save Sherlock; for he was her everything and she would be damned before she let him come to harm!

Jane spied two figures on the roof of St. Bart's as the cab dropped her off in front of the hospital. Jane needed to save Sherlock and that was the only thought in her head as she rushed to get to the roof of the hospital. She busted through the door to the roof with a bang and drew her gun.

Sherlock heard a band as he knew Jane must have figured out his ruse and found him up here. He couldn't help, but want to see her face as he turned to see her with her gun pointed at Moriarty. Sherlock smiled a sad smile, but before he could say anything he suddenly heard a gun go off and felt extreme pain in his back. He fell to the ground of the roof beneath him, and before he lost all consciousness he heard Jane's cry as he heard another shot go off. He knew he was quickly fading, but he needed to see Jane, he needed to see her one last time.

Jane saw Sherlock turn around to see her bust through the door and saw him give her a sad smile, but before she could wonder why his smile was so sad; she heard a gun go off and saw Sherlock fall. She didn't know what happened next, other than a cry was wretched from her throat and she pulled the trigger of her gun. She was oddly glad to know that she killed Moriarty, but all she could think about was saving Sherlock! He was dying from Moriarty's bullet, and she couldn't bare the thought of being alone in this world again; she couldn't be without Sherlock! She rushed over to Sherlock bleeding form and immediately knew he didn't have long to live.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes to see Jane quickly assessing his vitals and he knew by looking at her care-worn eyes that he didn't have long. He weakly reached up too softly caress Jane's face and said, "You came. Didn't think you'd figure it out so fast."

"Oh, you bloody idiot! Of course I would and I'm not that stupid," she said as she began to cry.

Sherlock just laughed softly and continued to hold her face in his hand, "No, of course not. Are you okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?! I'm not the one on the ground, bleeding!"

"You did just kill a man."

"Yes, well he wasn't a very nice man," Jane said, remembering she said those exact words to Sherlock on the day they meet.

"No he wasn't," Sherlock said as his eyes grew heavy, "At least I got to see you one last time." His hand fell from her face, his ragged breathing suddenly stopped, and his eyes closed.

"No! Please, no!," Jane cried out as she drew Sherlock's lifeless from closer to her, "Please don't leave me! I was so alone and I owe you so much. Please Sherlock, please just one more miracle. Please don't be dead! We're on the roof of a hospital for Christ's sake! Please let me save you! Please!," she cried, realizing there was nothing to do for her friend, her employer, her everything. "Please Sherlock, I love you," she whispered, realizing the complete truth of her words. She let her tears fall silently as she continued to hold Sherlock to her.

Suddenly a bright light appeared and a beautiful woman in a dark red dress, long, slightly curly brown hair, and bright red lips and bright blue eyes walk towards Jane. "The curse is lifted," she said in a musical voice, "He has learned to love and you have returned that love. Now, I return him back to you. But remember, he has just recently found his hear again and a heart is a heavy burden to bare." Jane looked at the woman in confusion, but before she could ask the woman to elaborate; a bright light surrounded Sherlock and the woman disappeared. Jane watched in awe as the light surrounding Sherlock grew brighter until his entire body was bathed in a blinding, white light. Suddenly, as if someone turned off a light switch, the light was gone and Sherlock opened his silver eyes wide and gasped for breath.

Sherlock was alive! Sherlock was no longer bleeding, the bullet wound seemed to have never have happened and Sherlock was alive! Jane couldn't help herself, but she launched herself at Sherlock and smothered his face in kisses, whispering her love for the crazy man between each kiss. Sherlock smiled softly as he grasped her face to hold her still, letting his silver-eyed gaze to take in her features. "I love you, Jane," he whispered softly.

"I love you too, Sherlock," Jane quietly said.

Sherlock smiled softly and brought their lips together in a passionate kiss.

-The End-

**AN2: Well that the end of "The Reichenbach Fall", (with a little meddling at the end on my part), the end of season two, and the end of this fic! I took inspiration for the "enchantress" from Nimueh from BBC's "Merlin". I also had a little reference to "Howl's Moving Castle" (I don't own anything!). Thank you so much for reading and please review!**


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